


Of Baubles, Boxes, and Banter

by per_mare_ad_astra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Christmas Tree Decorating, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Scorbus Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/per_mare_ad_astra/pseuds/per_mare_ad_astra
Summary: Albus stayed silent for a few more moments, until Scorpius’ impatience was palpable and he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “And I’ve brought down a couple of things from the attic,” he finally said, grinning. “A couple ofChristmassythings.”Scorpius actually gasped out loud, almost making them both topple off the armchair as he whipped his head around, his gaze zeroing in on their tree. He gasped again when he saw all the bags and boxes lying on the floor around it. “Decorations?” he said eagerly.“Yep.”Scorpius was practically vibrating with excitement, his previous exhaustion now gone. “Oh Merlin, I could kiss you. Iamgoing to kiss you.” And he did just that, cupping Albus’ face and pressing their lips together again.





	Of Baubles, Boxes, and Banter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shushumimi123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shushumimi123/gifts).



> A Scorbus Secret Santa gift for the lovely shushubytheshore/shushumimi123!! I hope you'll like it ❤️

Cardboard boxes were a bloody _menace_.

It seemed that every inch of their attic was covered in them, you couldn’t take two steps without colliding into one. Albus had only been in there for a mere ten minutes and he’d already managed to stub his toe twice and almost fall flat on his face too many times to count, and he was starting to wonder if the boxes were seeking him out on purpose, putting themselves in his path. It definitely felt like it, and he was starting to consider just giving up and returning to the living room.

But Scorpius was having a rough week in Healer Training—he’d had an anatomy exam the other day that he insisted he’d failed—and yesterday he’d unsubtly hinted that they could maybe put up all of their Christmas decorations soon, since they’d already acquired a tree a couple of days ago. He’d looked so excited by the prospect, and he’d given Albus the most adorable and hopeful little smile, and it had been so heartwarmingly endearing that Albus hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it all day. He’d almost messed up his Draught of Peace as a result, and as soon as he’d left it to simmer for the required seven hours he’d found himself wandering up the stairs to the attic.

And now there he was, digging through that sea of dust and cardboard, trying to remember where they’d stuffed their Christmas ornaments: they’d bought them (or brought them from their families’ homes) weeks ago, and then they’d dumped them in the attic and stupidly let them get mixed up with all of the unpacked junk they’d left in there when they’d first moved in, not realising how hard it would be to find them again. So far he’d unearthed a small bag of tinsel, but that was it. All around him stood half-open boxes full to the brim with everything from cushions to books to photographs, but the dozens of decorations were nowhere to be seen.

After another ten minutes of searching that only worsened the ache in his lower back, Albus sat on the floor with a groan, inadvertently disturbing the dust that had gathered there. He sneezed, then scowled, then sneezed again. Merlin, they really needed to clean this place. Clean, empty all of those remaining boxes, put everything in its proper place… To be honest, the logical thing would be to do all of that _before_ they put up the tinsel and baubles and various other Christmassy things. All of this stuff had been lying in there for over three months now, it was about time they brought it down.

However, the thought of how delighted his boyfriend would be when he came home and realised that they were finally going to decorate their tree was irresistible, so Albus shoved all rational thought out the window as he mustered the strength to get back up, sneezing for a third time in the process. A quick glance down at his jeans revealed that they were stained with black, which was bloody fantastic because he’d just washed them and he hated doing laundry, but perhaps a simple _Tergeo_ …

His fingers had just closed around his wand when he realised he’d wasted the last twenty minutes of his life in the stupidest possible way. Why was he wading through boxes when a simple charm could do the work for him? He’d been of age for almost two years, but he kept forgetting that he could do magic whenever he wanted to now. It still felt weird, and he still hadn’t quite let go of the childish fear that his spells wouldn’t work.

He weighed his wand in his hand. “ _Accio Christmas decorations_?” he said tentatively.

To his relief, the spell _did_ work. Perhaps a little too well.

It was, in theory, an excellent idea. Summoning Charms were indeed meant to help you find things by bringing them to you. However, when said ‘things’ were half a dozen boxes and bags of considerable bulk, making them soar towards you at top speed was a pretty stupid thing to do. The first box hit him in the chin, the second slammed into his stomach, and then he was on the floor again, cursing loudly enough to rival the racket that the ghoul in his grandparents’ attic tended to make.

Some ten minutes later, slightly bruised and battle-scarred, he made his down to the living room, wand held high as the boxes floated in a messy line behind him. He set them on the carpeted floor, right next to the modest tree that James had helped them pick out in Hogsmeade the other day—he hadn’t been able to resist making a little jibe about how they should choose one that was just small enough for Albus to reach the top of if he stood ‘on his tippy toes’, which had earned him a snowball to the face and, of course, lead to a full-blown Potter vs Potter/Malfoy snowball fight. They’d gone for an average-sized tree in the end, of course. Later, when Albus and Scorpius had gone back home, it had taken them a good half hour to pick the perfect spot for it before they’d settled on the corner by the window, where it now stood, patiently waiting to be decorated.

Sighing loudly, Albus collapsed on the plum-coloured armchair by the fireplace, draping his legs over one of the armrests. It was a little too soft for his taste, but it was excellent for lounging and just big enough for the both of them if Albus sat on Scorpius’ lap—which was his favourite place to be in—so he wasn’t complaining.

He glanced at his watch—it was past five o’clock, so Scorpius should Floo in any second now. It was part of their daily routine: he left for London early in the morning to attend classes in a prestigious Healing school close to St Mungo’s, while Albus spent his day working part-time at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes or potioning away at home, alternating between practicing, experimenting and just straight-up cramming, because the exam you had to pass in order to become a qualified potioneer had a written part as well as the actual brewing. He’d hoped life after N.E.W.T.s would be a bit more relaxed, but it was the complete opposite. He almost missed the stress of seventh year now.

With another sigh, he looked around the half-empty and slightly messy living room, pushing the hair out of his eyes—it was getting quite long because he was too busy to go get a haircut. Scorpius kept teasing him, saying he’d soon be able to tie it back in a small ponytail, and Albus was almost tempted to let it grow that much, just out of curiosity. It wouldn’t look _that_ silly, would it? And he’d look less like his father, which would be a relief now that he was out in the wizarding world and would soon be looking for a job…

That thought had barely crossed his mind when, just as he’d expected, there was a loud whooshing sound and the fireplace glowed green before Scorpius stumbled out of it. He almost tripped on the carpet, like always, but he managed to keep his balance this time, looking very proud of himself.

Albus’ mood brightened instantly, as it always did when Scorpius walked into a room. Unnoticed by his boyfriend, he watched as Scorpius reached up a hand to smooth his windswept silver-blond hair and began to brush the ash off his light blue Trainee Healer robes, which were much nicer than the lime green ones regular Healers used. He looked tired, and he’d forgotten to take off his reading glasses even though he wasn’t supposed to Floo with them on. 

The sight of him was so singularly adorable that Albus felt the sudden, soppy urge to pull him down onto that armchair, wrap him in a blanket and make him some tea. But he kept that to himself.

“Afternoon, Healer Malfoy,” he drawled instead, sitting up and watching in amusement as Scorpius jumped about a foot and finally looked up, his gaze landing on the armchair. 

He beamed at him, and his smile was as bright as a sunrise. “Albus!” he cried, letting his satchel drop to the floor and bounding over to him. He leaned down for a kiss, but stopped when Albus gently poked him in the chest with his forefinger, pushing him back.

“Glasses,” he reminded him.

“Oh, right. Oops,” Scorpius said sheepishly. He took them off, the thin gold frame glinting in the faint light—according to him, he’d picked a round frame because it suited the shape of his face, but  every now and then Albus couldn’t help pointing out how _conveniently_ similar they were to Harry’s.

After setting them carefully on the table, Scorpius turned back to him, only to find that Albus had already closed the distance between them, too impatient to wait any longer. He captured his boyfriend’s lips in a kiss that was happily returned, Scorpius’ hands quickly finding his waist. They  swayed slightly on the spot, enjoying the moment without any rush. Scorpius tasted of tea and something sugary, and Albus found himself grinning into the kiss, glad that they were back together even though they’d only been apart for half a day.

They broke away eventually, resting their foreheads together for a moment before leaning back a bit. 

Scorpius’ eyes were soft. “Hello, Albus.”

“Hey.” He gently wiped off a smudge of ash from Scorpius’ cheek, then took his hands and led him back to the armchair. “How was class?” he asked as soon as they plopped down on it, Albus half-sitting on Scorpius’ lap.

Scorpius made a face. “Can we _not_ talk about anything Healing-related, please? I mean, I love it, and I love my classes, but it’s been a very long day.” He shifted so that they were sitting side by side now, completely pressed up against each other. He snaked an arm over Albus’ shoulders and began to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Let’s talk about _you_. What have you been up to? Any exciting discoveries?” His sweet smile turned mischievous. “Did you mix leech juice with doxy powder and dye your hand bright orange again?”

Albus whacked him in the arm playfully. “Will you ever stop bringing that up? It happened _once_.”

“It was funny!” Scorpius protested. “Probably the funniest thing you’ve ever done! Merlin, your _face_ … You had to wear gloves for a week, remember?”

“No, I don’t remember. In fact, that never happened.”

“And then we had to cancel our Sunday lunch at the Manor,” Scorpius went on wistfully, “because you were being all stubborn and Albus-y and you didn’t want Dad to see your hand, even though he would’ve been able to fix it in exactly two seconds.”

“ _Scorpius_.”

His boyfriend rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, I’ll let it drop.” His expression softened. “Back to the important stuff: did you have a good day?”

Albus breathed a sigh of relief, glad for the change of subject—he loved Scorpius, he really did, but James already provided way too much teasing in his life. “Yeah, mostly. I’ve finished that book on the ethics of Love Potions, I’ve brewed some Draught of Peace again and I think I’ve finally got the balance between the moonstone and the powdered unicorn horn exactly right…” He trailed off, making it clear that there was something left to say.

Scorpius raised his eyebrows at him, confused and expectant. “And?”

Albus stayed silent for a few more moments, until Scorpius’ impatience was palpable and he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “And I’ve brought down a couple of things from the attic,” he finally said, grinning. “A couple of _Christmassy_ things.”

Scorpius actually gasped out loud, almost making them both topple off the armchair as he whipped his head around, his gaze zeroing in on their tree. He gasped again when he saw all the bags and boxes lying on the floor around it. “Decorations?” he said eagerly.

“Yep.”

Scorpius was practically vibrating with excitement, his previous exhaustion now gone. “Oh Merlin, I could kiss you. I _am_ going to kiss you.” And he did just that, cupping Albus’ face and pressing their lips together again.

Albus tried to sneak an arm around his waist so he could keep him there and turn this into a decent snogging session, but he wasn’t fast enough. One second Scorpius was kissing him, and the next he was rushing over to the tree, looking like a child on Christmas Day as he started to pull long ropes of silver and gold tinsel out of the boxes. “I didn’t know we had this many decorations,” he said, delighted. “Did you bring all of them down by yourself?”

Albus nodded. “We really need to clean the attic, by the way.” It was weird and a little bit thrilling, talking about something as simple and domestic as cleaning _their_ attic, in _their_ house. He still wasn’t used to it. “It’s cardboard hell—I thought I’d never get out.”

“Really?” Scorpius’ brow furrowed, and he looked at him more carefully now, taking in the details, the tinsel hanging limp in his hands. “You’re dusty,” he remarked, looking puzzled. “And what’s that red mark on your chin?”

“Rogue box,” Albus admitted grudgingly. He hadn’t noticed before, but it did sting a bit.

“Ah.” Scorpius’ expression turned knowing, and there was a hint of amusement in his grey eyes. “Did you try to Summon them?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I _have_ warned you—”

Albus pulled a face at him, folding his arms and sinking into the armchair. “I’m not listening to anything that isn’t gushing over how I’m the best, most considerate boyfriend.”

Scorpius laughed. He let the tinsel fall back into the box and walked over to Albus, pulling out his wand as he went. He tapped Albus’ chin twice with it, and the sting immediately went away. “There, all better,” he said brightly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “But just to be sure it’s _completely_ healed…” He leaned forward and kissed that exact spot, the warmth of his lips sending tingles down Albus’ spine. He tilted his head back, grinning when Scorpius immediately went in for another kiss, a proper one this time.

Once again, Albus tried to pull him down onto his lap, but it seemed that the possibility of leisurely snogging his boyfriend was nowhere near as exciting as Christmas. He had to hold back a sigh as Scorpius took a step back, grabbed his hands and pulled _him_ to his feet. He was practically jumping on the spot again, unable to contain his glee. “Come on then, let’s decorate!”

The way he was smiling, the joy that was making him light up like a star… Albus had to admit that seeing his boyfriend so happy was just a tiny bit better than actually kissing him, so he didn’t complain as he let himself be tugged over to the tree, a soft smile on his lips.

They decorated it the Muggle way, of course. Without magic. The Potters had always done it that way—Albus vividly remembered vicious wrestling matches between him and James over who got to put up their favourite baubles—and apparently Astoria Malfoy had made it family tradition before she’d even married Draco.

The tinsel box was emptied first, and there was a lighthearted debate over whether they should show some Slytherin pride and only use silver or add in some gold too. They’d gone for both in the end, because Scorpius insisted that their tree had to be as colourful as possible—the more colourful, the more Christmassy it would be, apparently—and Albus heartily agreed. Then came the fairy lights, which glowed in all colours of the rainbow and ran on magic rather than electricity, so a simple _Lumos_ could keep them going for hours. Scorpius hinted that they could go fairy hunting, like he used to do with his parents, and get some _real_ fairy lights, but that was a conversation for another day.

And then, of course, came the baubles and various other ornaments.

“What is _that_?” Scorpius said, fascinated, his eyes glued to the glass bauble Albus was dangling from one finger. It was as if someone had locked a pile of glitter and a tiny hurricane inside it, and the result was utter chaos. Specks of red, gold, pink and green glinted in the light, spinning at a dizzying speed.

“Three guesses as to who made it, and the first two don’t count,” Albus replied, grinning.

Scorpius grinned back. “Lily?”

“Lily.”

As they kept hanging up all of the different baubles, he explained to Scorpius that his little sister had started making these when she was eight. It had been a Potter thing at first, a way to add a little touch of Lily-ness to their tree, but she was branching out now, gifting baubles every year to all the different parts of their family: the Granger-Weasleys, their grandparents, Teddy and Victoire… This was the first she’d made for Albus and Scorpius, since they had their own tree now.

They kept decorating, occasionally pointing out the baubles or knickknacks that had some history attached to them and explaining it in detail. It went surprisingly smoothly: they’d been best friends for eight years and boyfriends for almost half that time now, and they managed to agree on pretty much everything; when they didn’t agree, they usually managed to resolve any issues without too much trouble. 

However, Quidditch had always been a delicate subject.

“We are _not_ decorating our tree with anything Chudley Cannons related,” Scorpius said firmly, eyeing the miniature orange banner emblazoned with a CC that Albus was currently holding. “Nu-uh. No way.”

“You’ve got that Tutshill Tornadoes figurine,” Albus protested, nodding towards the pinky-sized Seeker in bright blue robes that was chasing a Snitch around the tree.

“The difference, Albus, is that the Tornadoes are actually a good team.”

Albus’ eyebrows shot up. “If you’re going to insult my Quidditch team, I’m moving out.”

“I’m not _insulting_ it,” Scorpius said sheepishly, fidgeting with a bauble that he was turning over and over in his hands. “I’m just… questioning your taste.”

“I’m questioning this relationship,” Albus shot back dryly.

Scorpius’ expression turned pleading, and now he was giving Albus that _look_ —that combination of big grey eyes and adorable pout that he knew his boyfriend couldn’t resist. Merlin, he was such a Slytherin. Their Hogwarts roommates had questioned it more than once—Cyrus Avery in particular had never stopped insisting that Scorpius was a Ravenclaw in disguise—but no, Scorpius Malfoy was a Slytherin through and through. “Their robes are orange, Albus,” he said beseechingly. “They’re _ugly_.”

“Either we both get Quidditch rep or neither of us does,” Albus insisted.

The bickering went on for a while and eventually ended with a victory for Albus, who smugly hung the Cannons banner near the top of the tree, where it would be most visible. They both quieted down a bit after that, as they were busy putting up the rest of the decorations, though they still exchanged the occasional teasing jibe over their more ridiculous baubles—Scorpius had somehow acquired a chubby snowman that squeaked out French Christmas carols when you poked it, and though Albus thought it was the silliest thing he’d ever laid eyes on, Scorpius seemed to be so fond of it that he didn’t have the heart to contest its place on their tree.

And then it was time to put the star. It was a pretty thing that glowed with a soft, warm light. They’d bought it in some small German town during their trip around Europe that summer, and it was easily Albus’ favourite decoration: it was the first thing they’d bought together, for themselves, knowing that their shared home was going to be a reality.

However, there was a slight problem.

“It’s too tall!” Scorpius said, dismayed. “How can our tree be _too tall_? I can’t reach the top!”

“Oh dear,” Albus said flatly. “How does it feel, not being able to reach things? I really can’t relate.”

Scorpius stuck his tongue out at him before turning his attention back to the tree. “This is a serious issue, Albus. How are we going to put the star there? Maybe if you hop on my back…” He trailed off pensively.

Albus had a sudden vision of him doing just that and Scorpius losing his balance and making them both crash right into the tree, because that was exactly the sort of disastrous thing that would happen to them.

“Are you sure you can hold me?” he asked doubtfully.

Scorpius gaped at him and put a hand to his heart, pretending to be deathly offended. “Are you saying you don’t have faith in me, Albus?” he said dramatically. “Relationships are supposed to be about _trust_ , about knowing that we can _rely_ on each other…”

Albus’ lips twitched. “You’re a beanpole, love.”

“I played Quidditch for three years!”

“Seekers don’t really get a workout though, do they?”

Scorpius chucked a stray bit of tinsel at him. “Are you really going to make me grab a chair? Or use magic? We _can’t_ use magic.”

“It would be the smart thing to do, but fine, whatever.” Albus pushed his hair back, eyeing Scorpius warily. He’d seen him carry his weight in textbooks almost every day during their seventh year, and he _was_ stronger than he appeared, but he still looked as delicate as one of those dainty porcelain ballerinas that hung from the Christmas tree in Malfoy Manor. “If I break your back it's going to be _your_ fault and Draco isn't allowed to be mad at me.”

“Deal,” Scorpius replied, holding out the star, which Albus reluctantly took. Then he turned around and pointed at his back with both thumbs. “Now hop on before you change your mind.”

Albus rested his hands and Scorpius’ shoulders, his mind inevitably coming up with a whole list of things he’d rather do when in this position: hug Scorpius from behind, rest his chin on his shoulder, kiss him on the cheek… But Scorpius was bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently, so he sighed and, praying for them to not crash into the tree, he jumped onto his back.

There was a heart-stopping moment in which Scorpius staggered to the side a bit, but mercifully he kept his balance, adjusting his position slightly so he could hold onto Albus’ legs better. “I _told_ you so,” he said smugly.

“No need to brag, Malfoy the Surprisingly Fit. And move closer to the tree, I can’t reach it from here.”

Scorpius huffed out a laugh but obliged, stepping forward. Albus stretched out his arm as far as he could, careful not to shift his weight too much. The star was pinched between his thumb and middle finger and, finally, he managed to set it on its spot, giving it one last poke so it would stand upright.

“Done!” he said proudly.

“See, I told you we could do it,” Scorpius pointed out again, laughing when Albus ruffled the top of his head in retaliation. He stepped back from the tree. “I’d offer a high-five, but we might not be in the best position for it right now, so if you just— _oh_!”

Albus heard a thud, and then the world tilted alarmingly to the side as Scorpius stumbled back, having just tripped on something—one of the boxes they’d just emptied. For a second it seemed like he might keep his balance, but then, with a strangled yelp, he fell to the floor. Luckily—or _un_ luckily, depending on how you looked at it—Albus acted as his cushion.

The fall itself knocked the wind out of him, and having Scorpius crash on top of him like a sack of potatoes did not improve the experience. He let out a groan, struggling to get some air back into his lungs.

Those fucking cardboard boxes were out to get him, he was sure of it. They wouldn’t rest until he ended up in St Mungo’s.

Scorpius sat up like a shot, looking panicked, his grey eyes wide. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he cried, his hands hovering over Albus uncertainly. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

Albus could already feel a couple of bruises forming—they could join the ones he’d already acquired half an hour ago. The more the merrier. “Oh no, I’m great,” he said dryly. “Just peachy.”

“Are you sure?” Scorpius began to pat his robe pockets, doubtlessly searching for his wand. “Sit still for a moment, I can use a Scanning Spell, we’ve been working on it this week and I think I’ve finally got the hang of it even though the wrist movement is tricky…”

Albus let him ramble for a bit while he got his breath back, already working on ways to distract his boyfriend. Scorpius was exceptionally good at worrying: once he got really worked up he could go on for hours, and Albus would rather avoid that right now. “I’m fine, Scorpius. No, really, I am,” he added when Scorpius opened his mouth to contradict him. “But if you’re _that_ concerned…” He sat up gingerly, offering him grin. “Maybe you can kiss it better again?” he said innocently.

Scorpius bit his lip. “I really think I should check—”

Rolling his eyes, Albus grasped the collar of his robes and interrupted him with a kiss. Scorpius let out a small gasp, hesitating for a moment, but it didn't take him long to give in and return it. Though it started out as sweet as the others, Scorpius was completely focused on Albus this time, and it showed. His lips moved against Albus’ insistently, and it wasn’t long before Albus felt his back collide with the floor again, but more gently. Not that he would have noticed if it had been rough: he was too busy burying his hands in Scorpius' silky silver-blond hair, pulling him closer, grinning against his lips when Scorpius moved to straddle him. He was vaguely aware that they should probably go to their room, where they'd be more comfortable, but it was so far away, whereas Scorpius was _right there_ , all gangly and familiar and warm and smelling of vanilla, and Albus would happily deal with a sore back if it meant he could keep kissing him here, like this.

He heard a faint whooshing sound, but he didn’t think too much of it and clearly neither did Scorpius, because his lips moved to Albus' jaw, then lower, a hand slipping under Albus' slightly dusty Weird Sisters' t-shirt…

Someone cleared their throat.

They both froze. And suddenly Scorpius’ warmth was gone, and as Albus blinked in surprise, trying to get ahold of himself, he noticed two things: firstly, that Scorpius looked even more mortified than the time Harry had stumbled upon them snogging in the shed of the Potters’ back garden, and secondly, that a man in dark robes was now standing in front of their fireplace.

His stomach plummeted as he recognised Draco Malfoy, who was staring deliberately up at their ceiling, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Dad!” Scorpius squeaked out, his cheeks burning Gryffindor red as he scrambled to his feet. Albus just stayed where he was, too mortified to move, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him. “What are you doing here?”

“Dropping by to visit my son,” Draco replied calmly, his gaze still fixed upwards, “as I have been told to do ‘whenever I want to, no problem, no need to warn in advance’.” His gaze flickered to the two boys, and he raised his eyebrows elegantly. “But since I’m interrupting something…”

“No!” Scorpius exclaimed, going into panic mode again. “No no no, there is absolutely no interrupting going on, there is nothing to interrupt, right, Albus?”

Albus did _not_ want to be a part of that conversation, but Draco’s gaze landed on him, giving him no choice but to say something. He cleared his throat, trying to act as if it were completely normal that he was sprawled on the floor of his own living room. “Yeah, we were just… decorating.” It was only then that he noticed Scorpius had pushed his t-shirt up slightly, which meant that he was currently showing off his midriff. He casually pulled the fabric down again.

“I see.” Draco's tone was neutral, and in general he was very hard to read because his default expression was a poker face, but Albus suddenly got the distinct impression that he was finding this equally uncomfortable and hilarious.

The silence stretched on again, and Scorpius seemed on the verge of opening his mouth and starting to babble, which was not good because he _would_ end up blurting out something incriminating that would make this whole situation even more awkward (if that was even possible, though Albus doubted it). Thankfully, Draco saw the danger coming as well and decided to act, taking something out of his robe pocket.

“I wanted to give you this,” he said, holding up what looked like a small wooden box with carvings that Albus couldn’t quite make out. “You mentioned you’d be putting up your tree soon, and I assumed you’d do it this weekend, so today seemed like a good time to bring it.” He lightly emphasised the ‘seemed’, and Albus once again wished he could just melt into a puddle and stop existing for a bit.

However, Scorpius’ embarrassment had apparently vanished. His eyes had gone very round. “That’s Mum’s box, isn’t it?” he said, walking over to his father and reaching out an uncertain hand, as if he wanted to touch it but wasn’t sure if he was allowed. “That’s where she kept her Christmas ornaments. The glass ones.”

Draco nodded, handing it to him with a soft smile. Scorpius took it carefully, as if it were as precious as a vial of Felix Felicis. He opened it, his face lighting up when he beheld whatever was inside.

“Have you put all of them here?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he looked up at his father. “You should keep some…”

“And I have, don't worry. But these ones should be yours. They'll be more visible here than in the Manor, and you know how Astoria loved showing them off. She'd want you to have them.”

“Thank you, Dad.” Scorpius closed the box with the utmost care before wrapping his arms around his father, who returned the hug without hesitation.

Albus smiled at the sight, slowly getting to his fight now that he wouldn’t be noticed. He felt a little out of place—he had no idea what those glass ornaments were or what they meant, though the fact that they’d belonged to Astoria Malfoy made it pretty clear that they were incredibly special—but seeing how close Scorpius and Draco were now never ceased to make him melt a little.

The Malfoys separated, and Scorpius was clearly back to his usual, bouncy self. He walked over to Albus and took his hand, chattering away at his dad in the meantime, who listened with mild amusement. “We might need to reorganise the tree—or maybe not, there's still enough space for more baubles. You can never have too many, can you? That’s what Mum used to say. Do you like it?”

“It’s very... colourful,” Draco offered. He probably thought it was hideous—Albus had seen they way the Manor was usually decorated for Christmas, and it was all fancy and colour-coordinated and perfect, the complete opposite of their messy, exuberant tree—but he seemed charmed by it nonetheless. His eyes fell on the bright orange banner near the top, and his smile became more prominent, with a hint of smug amusement. “Is that a Chudley Cannons banner?”

“Yes,” Albus said proudly.

“Unfortunately,” Scorpius muttered under his breath, earning himself a playful nudge.

He nudged Albus back, which of course prompted Albus to nudge him again, and that would have lead to a nudge war and possibly a tickle fight if Draco hadn't huffed out a laugh. He was shaking his head as he watched them, a knowing glint in his eye. “Astoria and I argued the first time we put up a tree too, you know. Well, we argued every year.”

“I remember,” Scorpius said, grinning. “She wanted to use those glittery Muggle baubles, but you didn’t like them because they clashed with the aesthetic.”

“And who won the argument?” Albus asked curiously. As far as he knew, Scorpius got his stubbornness and determination from his mother, but he couldn't picture Draco losing against anyone.

“Astoria,” Draco replied, just as Scorpius said, “Mum”. They smiled at each other.

“She made a convincing case: she said they annoyed our parents whenever they came over to visit, and she was right, of course. Father hated them,” Draco explained, his tone slightly wistful. “And she thought they made the Manor ‘less gloomy’, so I’ve asked the House Elves to decorate the living room with them this year. I have to admit it makes for a nice change, despite the excess of glitter.”

“You’re _using_ them?” Scorpius said, stunned.

“Feel free to see for yourself at any time,” Draco offered. “I trust you still know my address?”

“Dad, I moved out three months ago, not three decades ago.”

“And it’s been two weeks since the last time you came over for tea.” Draco’s tone was slightly petulant, which made Albus hold back a smile. Though he could seem cold and uncaring at times if you didn’t know him well, it was evident that Draco was endearingly attached to his son.

“I’d invite you over for dinner this evening, but I see that you’re both clearly very busy,” Draco went on. He nodded towards the tree, but for a split second his gaze flickered to the spot on the carpet that they’d been snogging on and, for the third time that evening, Albus wished he could just disappear. “So I’ll leave you to it.”

“Um. Right.” Scorpius was looking at the carpet too, his cheeks pink, but he tore his gaze away from it and beamed at his father. “Well, it was lovely seeing you, Dad. Even if it was just for ten minutes, but it’s been an _eventful_ ten minutes. Maybe too eventful. Um, please visit us again whenever you want to!”

It took _a lot_ of self-control to not cover Scorpius’ mouth with his hand.

Draco raised his eyebrows at his son, before saying dryly, “Thank you, Scorpius. I’ll warn you in advance from now on, yes? Perhaps via fire message?”

Scorpius began to sputter, “That really won’t be necessa—”

But Draco had already vanished in a swirl of emerald flames. Albus could’ve sworn he’d seen him smile when he’d grabbed the Floo powder.

There was another awkward silence. He was starting to lose count of them.

“So that brings the total up to... five family members who've walked in on us?” he said conversationally.

“Don’t,” Scorpius groaned, burying his face in his hands, his voice muffled. “I want to Obliviate myself. Or drown in a cauldron of Forgetfulness Potion. This is my _dad_ and we were… we were…”

“Be glad it was just your dad and not James,” Albus pointed out darkly. If his older brother ever walked in on them, they'd never hear the end of it. It would be brought up in every single family reunion no matter how many years passed.

Scorpius grimaced. “Good point.”

Their cheeks still burning slightly, they busied themselves decorating the rest of the tree, trying to forget the events of the past ten minutes.

Scorpius opened the wooden box again, beckoning Albus over so he could take a look. It was bewitched so that the glass ornaments would shrink when they were put inside, so there were more of them than he’d expected. As Scorpius began to take them out one by one, he explained the story behind them: Astoria had collected them all over the years, buying them in different shops in different countries, and what made them so extraordinary was that they had been made by both Muggles _and_ wizards. There was an even mix and no way to tell the origin of each one, which she'd liked because it showed that Muggle craft could be magical too.

“This one was Mum’s favourite,” Scorpius said happily, taking out a large snowflake crafted from very fine glass that made spots of light dance around the room. “Her  _Schneeflocke_.” Upon seeing Albus' confused look, he elaborated, “She used to teach me the names of all the ornaments in German, and then Dad would do the same in French. They actually had a bit of a competition going on to see which one I’d find easier to remember. It was usually French. This was the only exception.”

Albus laughed. “I bet your dad loved that.”

“Oh, of course. It was the only thing he could beat her at, apart from chess.” He poked the snowflake and it spun, glittering beautifully. “I wasn't allowed to touch these when I was very little, though I tried my best,” he added. “And then I felt _extra_ grown-up when I was given one so I could put it on the tree for the first time.”

“The first time I was given a bauble, I tried to eat it,” Albus said pensively. “Almost gave Dad a heart attack.”

Scorpius stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing, throwing his head back. His eyes went all squinty, and Albus' heart almost hurt with how fond he was of this boy.

They kept exchanging stories, and it was amazing that they’d been best friends for eight years and knew each other better than anyone, yet they still had all of these fascinating little anecdotes to tell. It was thrilling, and just proved that Albus would never get tired of Scorpius. Every new thing he learned about him only made him love him more.

And then, finally, Scorpius hung the last glass bauble on the last bare tree branch, and they were done.

They were quiet for a few moments, just standing there surrounded by empty boxes, facing their very first decorated Christmas tree. The first of many, Albus hoped. It gave him a thrill to think they’d be able to do this again next year, and the year after that, and the year after that, too. They had so many shared Christmases to look forward to.

He wrapped an arm around Scorpius' waist and rested his head on his shoulder, smiling when Scorpius tugged him closer. “What do you think?”

“It’s a bit of a mess,” Scorpius admitted.

“Its imperfections make it perfect,” Albus said, his tone sugary-sweet.

Scorpius snorted. “I suppose there’s a lot of truth in that,” he mused. “It  _is_  perfect, in its own way. I like it very much.”

“Even though it has an ugly orange Cannons banner?”

Scorpius chuckled again and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ve embraced the banner. There’s something charming about its hideousness.”

It didn’t stand out that much anymore, in truth. The whole tree was such a riot of colour that the small speck of orange was barely noticeable, since there were so many glowing fairy lights, shiny tinsel, and glittering glass baubles. They’d been a bit too overenthusiastic, perhaps, but this mess was _theirs_ , and it suited them.

“Yeah,” Albus murmured, tightening his hold on Scorpius’ waist. “I like it too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> Tumblr: per-mare-ad-astra  
> Twitter: @astoriamalfoys


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